Epic Historial Collection (241 page)

“Oh, yes,” Elfric said at last. “I can think of quite a lot.”

42

C
aris was unable to find out the truth about Mattie Wise. Some people said she had been captured and was locked in a cell in the priory. Others thought she would be tried in her absence. A third strand of opinion claimed that someone else entirely would stand trial for heresy. Godwyn refused to answer Caris's questions, and the rest of the monks said they knew nothing.

Caris went to the cathedral on Saturday morning determined to defend Mattie whether she was present or not, and to stand up for any other poor old woman who suffered this absurd accusation. Why did monks and priests hate women so? They worshipped their Blessed Virgin, but treated every other female as an incarnation of the devil. What was the matter with them?

In a secular court there would have been a jury of indictment and a preliminary hearing, and Caris would have been able to find out in advance what the evidence against Mattie might be. But the church made its own rules.

Whatever they alleged, Caris would say loud and clear that Mattie was a genuine healer who used herbs and drugs and told people to pray to God to make them well. Some of the many townspeople who had been helped by Mattie would surely speak up for her.

Caris stood with Merthin in the north transept and remembered the Saturday two years ago when Crazy Nell had been tried. Caris had told the court Nell was mad but harmless. It had done no good.

Today, as then, there was a big crowd of townspeople and visitors in the cathedral, hoping for drama: accusations, counteraccusations, quarrels, hysterics, curses, and the spectacle of a woman being flogged through the streets and then hanged at Gallows Cross. Friar Murdo was present. He always showed up for sensational trials. They provided an opportunity for him to do what he did best: whip up hysteria in a congregation.

While they were waiting for the clergy, Caris's mind wandered. Tomorrow, in this church, she would marry Merthin. Betty Baxter and her four daughters were already busy making the bread and pastry for the feast. Tomorrow night, Caris and Merthin would sleep together in his house on Leper Island.

She had stopped worrying about the marriage. She had made her decision and she would take the consequences. In truth she felt very happy. Sometimes she wondered how she could have been so scared. Merthin could not make anyone his slave—it was not in his nature. He was even kind to his boy laborer Jimmie.

Most of all she loved their sexual intimacy. It was the best thing that had ever happened to her. What she looked forward to most was having a home and a bed of their own, and being able to make love whenever they wanted to, on going to bed or on waking up, in the middle of the night or even the middle of the day.

At last the monks and nuns came in, led by Bishop Richard with his assistant, Archdeacon Lloyd. When they had taken their seats, Prior Godwyn stood up and said: “We are here today to try the charge of heresy against Caris, daughter of Edmund Wooler.”

The crowd gasped.

Merthin shouted: “No!”

Everyone turned to look at Caris. She felt sick with fear. She had had no suspicion of this. It hit her like a punch in the dark. Bewildered, she said: “Why?” No one answered her.

She remembered her father warning her that Godwyn would have an extreme reaction to the threat of a borough charter. “You know how ruthless he is, even over small disputes,” Edmund had said. “Something like this will lead to total war.” Caris shuddered now to remember her reply: “So be it—total war.”

Even so, Godwyn's chance of success would have been slender indeed if her father had been in good health. Edmund would have fought Godwyn to a standstill, and probably destroyed him. But Caris alone was a different matter. She did not have her father's power, authority, or popular support—not yet. Without him, she had become vulnerable.

She noticed her aunt Petranilla in the crowd. She was one of the few people
not
looking at Caris. How could she stand there in silence? Of course she supported her son, Godwyn, in general—but surely she would try to stop him condemning Caris to death? She had once said she wanted to be like a mother to Caris. Would she remember that? Somehow, Caris felt she would not. Her devotion to her son was too great. That was why she could not meet Caris's eye. She had already made up her mind not to stand in Godwyn's way.

Philemon stood up. “My lord bishop,” he said, formally addressing the judge. But he immediately turned to the crowd. “As everyone knows, the woman Mattie Wise has fled, too frightened and guilty to be tried. Caris has been a regular visitor to Mattie's house for some years. Only days ago she defended the woman, in front of witnesses, here in the cathedral.”

So that was why Philemon had questioned her about Mattie, Caris realized. She caught Merthin's eye. He had been worried because he could not figure out what Philemon was up to. He had been right to worry. Now they knew.

At the same time, part of her mind marveled at the transformation of Philemon. That awkward, unhappy boy was now a confident, arrogant man, standing in front of the bishop, the prior, and the townspeople, as full of spite as a snake about to strike.

Philemon said: “She offered to swear on oath that Mattie is no witch. Why would she do that—unless to cover her own guilt?”

Merthin shouted out: “Because she's innocent, and so is Mattie, you mendacious hypocrite!”

He might have been put in the stocks for that, but others were shouting at the same time, and his insult passed without comment.

Philemon went on: “Recently, Caris has miraculously dyed wool the exact shade of Italian scarlet, something Kingsbridge dyers have never been able to do. How has this been achieved? By a magic spell!”

Caris heard the rumble of Mark Webber's bass voice: “This is a lie!”

“She could not do this by daylight, of course. She lit a fire in her backyard at night, as was seen by people living nearby.”

Philemon had been assiduous, Caris noted with foreboding. He had interviewed her neighbors.

“And she chanted strange rhymes. Why?” Caris had sung to herself out of boredom, as she boiled up dyes and dipped the cloth, but Philemon had the ability to turn innocent trivia into evidence of evil. He dropped his voice to a thrilling stage whisper and said: “Because she was calling for the secret aid of the Prince of Darkness…,” he raised his voice to a shout, “…Lucifer!”

The crowd groaned with dread.

“That cloth is Satan's scarlet!”

Caris looked at Merthin. He was aghast. “The fools are starting to believe him!” he said.

Caris's courage began to return. “Don't despair,” she said. “I haven't had my say yet.”

He took her hand.

“This is not the only spell she has used,” Philemon continued in a more normal voice. “Mattie Wise also made love potions.” He looked accusingly around the crowd. “There may even be wicked girls in this church now who have made use of Mattie's powers to bewitch a man.”

Including your own sister, Caris thought. Did Philemon know about that?

He said: “This novice nun will testify.”

Elizabeth Clerk stood up. She spoke in a quiet voice, eyes lowered, the picture of nunlike modesty. “I say this on my oath as I hope to be saved,” she began. “I was betrothed to Merthin Builder.”

Merthin called out: “Liar!”

“We were in love and very happy,” Elizabeth went on. “Suddenly he changed. He seemed like a stranger to me. He became cold.”

Philemon asked her: “Did you notice anything else unusual, Sister?”

“Yes, Brother. I saw him hold his knife in his left hand.”

The crowd gasped. This was an acknowledged sign of bewitchment—although, as Caris knew, Merthin was ambidextrous.

Elizabeth said: “Then he announced he was going to marry Caris.”

It was amazing, Caris thought, how the truth could be just a little skewed so that it sounded sinister. She knew what had really happened. Merthin and Elizabeth had been friends until Elizabeth made it clear she wanted to be more than a friend, at which point he had told her that he did not share her feelings, and they had parted. But a satanic spell made a much better story.

Elizabeth might have convinced herself that she was telling the truth. But Philemon knew this was a lie. And Philemon was Godwyn's tool. How could Godwyn reconcile his conscience with this level of wickedness? Was he telling himself that anything was justified in the service of the priory?

Elizabeth finished: “I can never love another man. That is why I have decided to give my life to God.” She sat down.

It was powerful evidence, Caris realized, and her dismay darkened like a winter sky. The fact that Elizabeth had become a nun lent conviction to her testimony. She was operating a kind of sentimental blackmail: How can you disbelieve me when I have made such a sacrifice?

The townspeople were quieter now. This was not the hilarious spectacle of a mad old woman being condemned. They were watching a battle for the life of a fellow citizen.

Philemon said: “Most damning of all, my lord bishop, is the final witness, a close member of the accused woman's own family: her brother-in-law, Elfric Builder.”

Caris gasped. She had been accused by her cousin, Godwyn; by her best friend's brother, Philemon; and by Elizabeth—but this was worse. For her sister's husband to speak against her was astonishing treachery. Surely no one would ever respect Elfric again.

Elfric stood up. The expression of defiance on his face told Caris he was ashamed of himself. “I say this on my oath as I hope to be saved,” he began.

Caris looked around for her sister, Alice, but did not see her. If she had been here, she would surely have stopped Elfric. No doubt Elfric had ordered her to stay at home on some pretext. She probably knew nothing of this.

Elfric said: “Caris speaks to unseen presences in empty rooms.”

“Spirits?” Philemon prompted.

“I fear so.”

A murmur of horror came from the crowd.

Caris was aware that she often talked aloud to herself. She had always thought of it as a harmless, if mildly embarrassing, habit. Her father said all imaginative people did it. Now it was being used to condemn her. She bit back a protest. It was better to let the prosecution run its course, then refute the accusations one by one.

“When does she do this?” Philemon asked Elfric.

“When she thinks she is alone.”

“And what does she say?”

“The words are difficult to make out. She might be speaking a foreign tongue.”

The crowded reacted to that, too: witches and their familiars were said to have their own language that no one else could understand.

“What does she seem to be saying?”

“To judge by her tone of voice, she is asking for help, pleading for good luck, cursing those who cause her misfortune, that sort of thing.”

Merthin shouted: “This is not evidence!” Everyone looked at him, and he added: “He has admitted he did not understand the words—he's just making this up!”

There was a rumble of support from the more levelheaded citizens, but it was not as loud or as indignant as Caris would have liked.

Bishop Richard spoke for the first time. “Be quiet,” he said. “Men who disrupt the proceedings will be put outside by the constable. Carry on, please, Brother Philemon, but do not invite witnesses to fabricate evidence when they have admitted they do not know the truth.”

That was at least evenhanded, Caris thought. Richard and his family had no love for Godwyn after the quarrel over Margery's wedding. On the other hand, as a cleric Richard might not want the town to pass out of the priory's control. Perhaps he would at least be neutral in this. Her hopes rose a little.

Philemon said to Elfric: “Do you think the familiars she speaks to help her in any way?”

“Most certainly,” Elfric replied. “Caris's friends, those she favors, are lucky. Merthin has become a successful builder although he never even completed his apprenticeship as a carpenter. Mark Webber was a poor man, but now he is rich. Caris's friend Gwenda is married to Wulfric, even though Wulfric was betrothed to someone else. How are these things achieved, if not with unnatural help?”

“Thank you.”

Elfric sat down.

As Philemon summarized his evidence, Caris fought down a rising feeling of terror. She tried to put out of her mind the vision of Crazy Nell being flogged behind a cart. She struggled to concentrate on what she should say to defend herself. She could ridicule every statement made about her, but that might not be enough. She needed to explain why people had lied about her, and show what their motives were.

When Philemon was finished, Godwyn asked her if she had anything to say. In a loud voice that sounded more confident than she felt, she replied: “Of course I do.” She made her way to the front of the crowd: she would not let her accusers monopolize the position of authority. She took her time, making them all wait for her. She walked up to the throne and looked Richard in the eye. “My lord bishop, I say this on my oath as I hope to be saved…,” she turned to the crowd and added, “…which I notice Philemon did not say.”